Thoughts of a Hijacked Bread Boy
by Lady Azkaila
Summary: Ever wondered what was going on with Peeta during his rehabilitation in Thirteen? Peeta's POV for this section of Mockingjay.
1. Of the Caged Bread Boy

**(Author's Note) Ok, I know the first thing I will hear is that this is a little out of character and driven a bit too much by hate and not enough by fear. So, *when* you review this, please know that I am aware of this fact. I couldn't think of Peeta as being locked up and simply terrified to death, there had to be a little anger in him somewhere, right? Thank you and enjoy - more to come sooner or later!**

I could feel the stinging pains from the shackles on my wrists. I had lunged at them many times trying to escape my sterile, lonely prison. They thought they could lock me up and leave me with only my fear? Well they were wrong. I could handle myself; I could and would seek justice on those who wronged me. _Katniss._ The mere name sent my veins to pulsing; I could sense it without looking. She drugged me. Abandoned me. _Deceived _me. She must not be trusted with anything. I am not safe while she still breathes. I sit up and examine my fettered arms and legs. I had come so close to extinguishing the Girl on Fire. This failure only served to complicate the situation. Now she didn't trust me, either. Katniss would still receive what she was owed; I was sure of it.

These are the thoughts I entertained myself with whenever the visions paused their haunting of me. They were memories so vivid and bright they blocked out any other. As each one resurfaced in my mind, I became more infuriated against my fellow tribute from District Twelve; my fiancé.

I didn't have many visitors during those days. It was as if they were attempting to starve me of companionship. I laughed at the notion.

Delly Cartwright came to see me once in a while. Cheerful, patient, innocent Delly; everyone's friend. We talked of home and neighbors we'd left behind. She asked me about my work in the bakery and was engrossed in my dullest story. I questioned her about what life was like now beyond my immaculate cell walls and she giggled through half-hearted complaints of the rigidity with which District Thirteen was run. It appears I wasn't the only one given pathetic meal rations.

Delly was the only soul I could come close to trusting then. She was the only one who treated me like nothing had ever changed. She ignored my restraints and wove our conversations along so easily, so naturally.

One morning I awoke from a fitful sleep to see Delly sitting beside me, her bright face concerned.

"Bad dream?" She asked quietly. I stiffened as she spoke. De ja vu was sweeping over me, as if I had heard what she just said spoken with the same soft tone and vocal inflection before. My thoughts were tumbling quickly. No, _I _had said it before; to Katniss back when I believed she was being honest with me. Ignoring Delly as she jumped from her chair and tried to calm me, I jerked upright in my bed and screamed at the security camera. "I know you're out there! You will not escape me, Katniss!" I continued my ranting, but suddenly everything was in a haze as a doctor ran into the small room and swiftly jabbed a fine tipped needle into my upper arm. I blacked out moments later. My dreams while I took my drugged nap were wildly paced and as life like as they had ever been. I was in the water arena, from the seventy-fifth Hunger Games. The Jabberjays were calling in whispers now, not screams. _Watch out for yourself Peeta, Peeta, she's coming for you, hurry, hurry, she's armed and ready to kill. _I spun around to catch an arrow in my chest, pain ripping through me like fire. As I fell back, I caught sight of her perched high in the trees, a smirk tugging at her face. "Think fast, bread boy!" she snickered. I had no sooner crashed to the forest floor in that scenario then I was in the cave from the previous year's Games. Katniss was trying to convince me I should eat, fooling me into thinking she actually cared. Smiling, she offers me a handful of berries and I accept them, a stupid grin plastered on my face. Moments later, I'm writhing on the dirt floor and she sits off to the side, gloating. "Those were Nightlock, you idiot!"

After several more torturous journeys, I finally awake to the hospital room. I instantly realize I'm no longer tied down to my bed, so I slide over the edge to stand my single bare foot and my other mechanical one on the sleek, cool tile floor. The door creaks open and _she _walks in. Leaving no time to hear any more lies, I pin her to the nearest wall and grip my angry hands around the throat from which too many taunts had come. She struggles, but has no chance against me since I have taken her by such surprise. As she gasps for air, I don't shout out her unpaid treasons that led me to this action. Stoic killers seem more polished, two rounds in the Hunger Games taught me that at least. I am satisfied in finally seeing terror take over the wretched face that hides true emotion from me with a mask of falsehood. Her body slumps limp and I let her sink to the floor, brushing my hand over her face to close forever those bewitching eyes.

My victory is over too soon as Gale storms in, brandishing his hunting knife. I know it's over now, but I'm finally at peace. "Your _cousin_ is dead," I address him coolly. As he drives his weapon home, I flash a grand smile at him.

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	2. Of Morphling and a Goat

**(Author's Note) Thanks for sticking with me. Updates will be further spread out from now on what with school and all. Feel free to review, especially if you feel I have made an error. I promise I don't bite... Usually!  
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I was falling, falling into the abyss but I never seemed to hit the bottom. Perhaps there wasn't a floor to this pit that was consuming me? It was a peculiar thought, but it was something reasonable to consider when you were stuck in a sort of limbo like this. I tried opening my eyes wider to have a better look around, when I realized they had been shut. Awakened truly this time, the stark ceiling of my hospital room, I mean, cell stretched above me.

As I slowly came to, the dull pain that had been ebbing began shouting its presence along my neurotransmitters. So the restraints were actually still there or at least around one wrist. The others had been loosed sometime while I was knocked out. Was it still today? Or was the today I was thinking of really yesterday? There were no windows in my little box, so I couldn't even tell if it was evening or morning. So that was all a dream?

Pulling up my shirt I saw no scars, hold that thought, no additional scars to indicate a puncture from such a knifepoint as I had imagined. I proceeded to mentally cuss out my subconscious before realizing how idiotic that was. Collapsing back down onto my flattened, drab pillow, I sighed in exasperation. Checking over my freed left wrist, I noted the peeling skin separating over my raw, chewed up flesh. Did they realize who they had been abusing? I am not the threat here; I am not the monster, not the mutt under the Capitol's control. However, she had all those positions covered.

I shifted uncomfortably in the starched sheets at the thought of her being nearby at this moment. Had she been lurking through the hospital while I slept? Was she biding her time to do away with me? I decided that I must not allow myself to fall fully asleep. I was momentarily confused as to why I had slept so long and deep in the first place, and then I remembered the sedative. So I had to behave myself or else they would knock me out. I couldn't afford to be vulnerable like that; I was impaired enough already.

Out of boredom, I took stock of my hindrances. Possessing only one human leg, caged in a box so I was unaware of anything going on in the outside world, provided with almost nothing to eat, having no chance to do more exercise than sit up and oh yeah, being tied to a hospital bed; I was pretty sunk. I chided myself not to despair just yet; I had plenty of time to work off my remaining cuff, hadn't I?

I was jolted from my thoughts to see one of the white-coated Thirteen doctors. He said they had something special for me today. That phrase always seems like a threat coming from a medical professional. I shrunk back when they wheeled in a rickety cart with an old television set wobbling atop it. Disturbing flashbacks were trying to resurface, and I felt an outburst boiling up inside of me. Hurriedly I forced it down and ordered myself to at least first see what they had planned for me. When the fuzzy image appeared on the small screen, all my paranoid feelings started to drown me. The tape was of her, with me, in our cave we shared during the games.

The doctor switched back on my I.V. drip which he had been fidgeting with. I felt suddenly distant, like there was a sickly sweetness holding me away, safe, from the world. _Morphling, _something inside me suggested. It was a pleasurable unawareness that stole me away quietly through my numbed veins. I didn't exactly know what was playing out on the television once the drugs set to work on me, but I tried hard to stay awake and watch.

I see Katniss prattling on telling a story, and for once I don't know what I feel about her. I am left with the unusual sense that wherever my consciousness is, swimming in morphling dreams far from Panem, she can't reach me to harm me. I caught a few sentences of a gift for Prim, a wounded goat so mangled the butcher refused to buy it. The world was fading in and out then, or perhaps really I was the one fading. Did it really matter which? I was somewhere apart from the cold hospital/prison, sinking into the peaceful softness of pleasant sedated sleep.

Swaying back and forth gently, an easy swinging motion like I used to experience when I was small, sitting with my mother on her old rocking chair. The movement I had been feeling gradually receded and I turned over in my hard bed. A dull pain shot through my arm as I accidently smacked it against the metal bed railing. I was painfully aware of my presence in the world once again. Pulling myself up to a halfway sitting position, I noticed Delly sitting across the room from me, smiling sunnily.

"Good morning, Peeta," she greeted me softly.

I blinked, still a little groggy, and then it was Katniss perched in the flimsy folding chair.

Was this just another nightmare, or was she really before me this time? Panic was rising in me now, and I knew my adrenaline was flying through the roof when I spoke.

"You mutt! Traitor!" I attempted to shout, but my body was still in a fog somewhere and my words came out in a harsh whisper.

A look of hurt crossed her face as she moved in closer to me. She was so near I could reach her; she must have decided I was too incapacitated to try anything. "Peeta," her face was pained but she spoke so calmly and quietly. Perhaps the drugs were still blurring my perception. "Peeta, you know that isn't the truth. You _know_ it if you trust your heart." She placed her hand lightly on mine, and I recoiled back from her touch. I could see now she was fighting tears back from her stony eyes. "How can you not remember me? How could you not remember us?" Her voice was wavering so I could tell she was more upset than she usually allowed herself to become. "Peeta, if you are the real Peeta, you know what they have made you believe is a lie. You know I wouldn't hurt you. Remember us, me and you." She slipped out quietly before I could come up with any reply, threat or otherwise. My eyes followed her to the door, then fell back on the empty chair – where Delly was sitting. I groaned in frustration. Reality, dreams, truth, lies. Was anything as it appeared anymore?

"How are you today?" Joyous as ever, Delly was.

Another thought crossed my mind at that time. Prim's birthday present. What had happened after the morphling took over my body? "Did the goat live?" I asked imperatively.

Delly didn't seem to know what I was getting at, and replied in question. "What goat are you talking about?"

"Prim's goat," I insisted. "Did the goat live?" I petitioned once more. She paused a moment, giving the impression my inquiry was unnoticed. "Well, did it?" My voice was possibly raised unnecessarily, but today was off to a confusing start.

"Y-yes, I think it did" she stuttered out. Her sudden nervousness puzzled me, but not enough to stop my asking.

"How did they mend all of those wounds? It doesn't seem possible. Why did she want a runt of a goat anyways?"

"I'm not really sure, Peeta." Delly's voice always sounded honestly sweet, free from ulterior motives. A buzzer went off as the door to my chamber opened. A drably outfitted Thirteen worker motioned to Delly. "I'm sorry, I have to go now. I'll try to come back later, ok?" She beamed a smile at me, but I was exasperated at her leaving.

"What about the goat?" I hollered after the swiftly closed door.

**Let me know what you think! More to come eventually**


	3. Of Confusion Within

**(Author's Note) Apologies for not updating in so long. With college and extracurricular responsibilities and whatnot I can only spend a few hours now and again on the weekends working. Know that I am still working and intending to finish! Thanks for sticking with me.  
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I fell into a new routine with the doctors over the next several days. I didn't hate them for bringing up all the haunting memories and nightmares as they gave me morphling to help fight the anguish off. The stuff was addicting, it was easy to see why so many of the victors had turned to it to help them cope with post-Games life.

Each day the attendants would bring in a different tape to play in the television set. At first I didn't understand the point behind it all, but I realized soon enough that almost all of them were of Katniss. They were trying to make me change my mind about her. Of course, they told it like they just wanted to remind me of the truth. I already knew the truth, those shining apparitions that lurked through my mind and kept me on guard at the mention of the girl I wanted to marry – no, was fooled into proposing to.

As the day's feature began, so did my internal turmoil. Anxiety would seize me, my stomach would knot tightly and my brain wouldn't process anything right. Flashbacks burned in my eyes alternately with the images on the television. I just barely managed to hold myself under control, waiting for my sweet escape to trickle into my hungry veins. I don't know why the doctors believed this psychological torture would improve my well-being or anyone else's. I didn't dare question their methods and risk losing my drug supply, however.

My waking hours were spent trying to puzzle out right from wrong; my sleeping hours lacking morphling were still a riot of bright hauntings. I was undecided on which was preferable to me. Not too much had changed since I was first seized and moved to Thirteen.

I learned from a few conversations that slipped past door accidentally Katniss was travelling to the front lines of the rebellion. She had not, in fact, been here when I was sure she had spoken to me, so bravely touched my hand. So often now half of my thoughts were spent suggesting half my experiences had been imagined. I had found out many things I believed were false, I just couldn't be sure of anything anymore. I started playing with the word 'plausible'. As I couldn't say whether this or that was true, I cogitated over whether it was plausible or not.

Would Katniss have behaved the way I dreamed she had? I decided those words and actions were a bit different than how she would have carried herself in the situation. This thought process provided me with some solidarity in my world of mirage and illusion. I tried fighting back to a prior consciousness I hoped I had in me. Surely my life was not always how it had become. Certainly there was a 'before' Peeta that was more or less psychologically stable. I had to hold on to this hope; I feared there would be nothing left of me if not this dream of rediscovering myself.

Somehow at this time when everything the people around me claimed to want was for me to be exposed to the truth, I couldn't understand anything fully. My confusion was a constant frustration. The worst of it was that I couldn't decide what I even _wanted_ to believe. I hadn't chosen a side of what I desired to be true; I had little idea of what actually was fact. The mental agony was almost as torturous as the physical suffering I'd endured throughout the games.

I struggled against the technicians when they came to prep my I.V. the following day. I needed clarity, full use of my partially functioning brain. I didn't want to fight through the smog of my usual sedative cocktail.

Lyra, one of the usually soft-spoken attendants, swatted my hand away when I reached to scroll the clamp tight on my drip line.

"Peeta," she addressed me firmly. "We are doing this for your benefit. Help us help you by cooperating a little more."

Mildly ashamed at my rash action, I withdrew and attempted to express myself with words. "I don't want the morphling to hide the world from me. I want to see everything myself."

Lyra smiled down at me. "We're giving you a smaller dose today. We'll make sure you don't fall asleep too soon."

I couldn't protest against her compliant way of telling me I was right, but still not giving in to my request. It was two-faced people like Lyra that were continually giving me trouble.

I pushed her out of my mind, and turned my attention to the television that resided somewhat permanently in my cell. I steeled my nerves against the provocative images I knew would soon assault me from the fuzzy monitor. Self-control is all I really needed. Full power over my thoughts, actions, and emotions was achievable, right? I breathed deeply and tried to think an encouraging thought. None were coming to mind. I started to brace when I felt the morphling trickle in. It was slower than before, perhaps diluted even, but I was glad they hadn't listened to my orders to take the 'treatment' drug-free.

When the show began, something clicked in my head. Recognition. Not just of Katniss, sitting serenely in a place - I wasn't sure where – singing. The words she poured out were familiar. I had heard them before. I racked my distraught brain to find out where. The memory was back so far. Back when I was home in District 12, at the bakery. It was Mr. Everdeen. My dad had told me the birds kept quiet when Katniss' father sang. I listened carefully one day, and this was the song he'd been singing. A twisted tune called something like "Hanging Tree". It had an interesting quality about it, but it wasn't something just anyone would dare to shout out. This was only the second time I'd ever heard the melody.

The thought crept into my mind without direct suggestion for the first time since this mess of captivity had begun: did I use to love this girl they now call Mockingjay? I couldn't find the answer from my heart.

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